


for science

by owlinaminor



Series: courferre week 2k14 [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Courferre Week, F/F, Female Combeferre, Female Courfeyrac, Fluff, For Science!, Science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 16:42:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2075442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlinaminor/pseuds/owlinaminor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Courfeyrac, I need you to kiss me for science.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	for science

**Author's Note:**

> courferre week, day three! I think this is my favorite one that I've written so far this week.

Combeferre is fifteen minutes late to weekly movie night, regrettably without Starbucks.

She bursts through the door of Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet’s apartment like a hurricane, all noise and angry energy, carrying two bags and a small stack of textbooks which she places on a chair near the door before rushing into the living room and plopping down in the middle of the couch, where Courfeyrac saved her a seat.

“Hard day in the lab?” Courfeyrac asks sympathetically.  (Her job at a pastry shop isn’t easy, but compared to Combeferre’s job in a biology research lab populated almost exclusively by privileged male douchebags, it’s literally a piece of cake.)

Combeferre nods, and reaches for the plate of brownies Joly put out earlier like a drowning person reaching for a lifeline.

Only once halfway through a piece of delicious, chocolatey goodness is she finally able to speak: she turns to Courfeyrac, eyes blazing with the kind of single-minded determination usually only seen when Enjolras is making a speech about taking down the patriarchy.  (It’s terrifying and kind-of hot.)

“Courfeyrac, I need you to kiss me for science,” she says.

Courfeyrac’s green eyes go very, very wide.  Her heart is suddenly pounding at speeds possibly hazardous to human life.

“Kiss you for science?” she repeats.

“Care to elaborate, Ferre?” Eponine asks from her perch on the armrest of the couch.  “Not that you’re not very kissable, of course.”

“Well,” Combeferre begins, taking another bite of brownie, “I’m supposed to be doing research on how different types of exercise affect the bloodstream, because we’re trying to see if you can develop a drug that would mimic those effects without the head for muscle contractions.  And, well ... Kissing is exercise.  It’s, weirdly, a very good form of moderate exercise – it burns an amount of calories that makes it very good for testing experimentally.  But it’s not easy to actually research.”

“So, basically, you need someone to kiss you with a bunch of sensors on and shit?” Grantaire asks.  “I’d be game for that.”

“Thanks for the offer, R, but, um.”  Combeferre’s cheeks turn slightly pink the way they often do when she’s talking about anything non-academic.  “I was asking Courfeyrac.”

Courfeyrac takes a moment to look at Combeferre – really look at her, strawberry-blonde hair tied back in a loose bun with a few strands hanging free, and caramel-colored skin an beautiful gift from her Arab father and Russian mother, and clear, blue-gray eyes, and the geekiest glasses you’ll ever see on anyone, and cheekbones that belong on an empress, and the most perfect, pale-pink, absolutely _kissable_ lips.  Courfeyrac remembers all of her half-expressed wants and daydreams and too-embarrassing-to-ever-share fantasies and takes what she hopes isn’t an audible gulp.

“Sure,” she says.  “I’ll do it.”

* * *

_from: Enjolras.  to: Combeferre.  
_ _8:21 P.M._  
So, why did you ask Courfeyrac for help with your ... data collection?

 _from: Combeferre.  to: Enjolras._  
8:24 P.M.  
Do you really need to ask that?

 _from: Enjolras.  to: Combeferre._  
8:25 P.M.  
When are you just going to ask her out?  It’s painfully obvious that she likes you.

 _from: Combeferre.  to: Enjolras._  
8:31 P.M.  
You’re not allowed to give relationship advice, remember?  Not until /you/ ask out R.

 _from: Enjolras.  to: Combeferre._  
8:33 P.M.  
.... Shut up.

* * *

Courfeyrac enters the lab on Monday morning a little tired, a lot nervous, and with Starbucks.

Two Starbucks, to be precise: one cappuccino for her and one espresso for the scientist who meets her at the door and escorts her to the small lab room where they’ll be testing.  It’s very white: white walls, white chairs, white equipment, and very few posters.  Something about it reminds Courfeyrac of a hospital, even though it doesn’t _smell_ like a hospital; it only smells clean.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Combeferre says.  She doesn’t have to thank Courfeyrac for knowing her order, complete with no milk two sugars and a bit of cinnamon, because, well, the fact that they know each other’s coffee orders goes without saying.

“No problem,” Courfeyrac answers.  “So, how’s your morning been?”

Combeferre shrugs.  “Colleagues bugging me either because they want to be the one I’m kissing or because they found out I’m kissing a girl and they want to watch.  You know.”

Courfeyrac twists up her face in the universal expression of disgust.  “Assholes.”

Combeferre shrugs again and takes a sip of coffee, then says, “I’m used to it.”

 _“I don’t want you to be used to it,”_ Courfeyrac wants to say.  _“I want you to have the perfect job with the perfect people and come home to me every night and I want us to make out like those jerks_ wish _they could watch._ ”  But instead, she just says, “So, what do you need me to do?”

Combeferre points to a machine in the back with a large, glowing screen and a couple of sensors that look scarily similar to the needles used to administer shots attached via thick, white cords.  “This machine takes blood samples and analyzes their chemical composition,” she explains.  She catches Courfeyrac eying the needle-probes skeptically and adds, “It doesn’t hurt, I promise.  It just stings, a little.  But it’s all for science.”

 _For science and for kissing Combeferre,_ Courfeyrac reminds herself.  _You can do this._

“So, what we’ll do is,” Combeferre continues, “have the machine take a reading, then kiss for three minutes – to keep consistent with other types of exercise I’ve taken measurements of – then take another reading.  Pretty simple, really.”

Courfeyrac nods and rolls up the sleeves of her jean jacket, mentally preparing for _kissing Combeferre in a laboratory room for science._

“Are you ready?” Combeferre asks.

“Whenever you are.”

Combeferre gives Courfeyrac a long, indistinguishable look, and takes a deep breath.  She then turns to press a few buttons on the machine – setting it up, probably – and gather up the needle-probes.

Courfeyrac takes one.  “Should we ... ?”

Combeferre nods.  “Go ahead.”

Both of them take samples at the same time, just a prick from their upper arms.  Once that’s done, all that remains is – well.  The kissing.

“I can, um, start the timer whenever you want,” Combeferre says, decidedly looking anywhere but Courfeyrac.

“Okay,” Courfeyrac replies – but she doesn’t move.

A very long moment passes like that: both of them standing, a foot away but unable to actually face each other.  Courfeyrac wonders, suddenly, how much experience Combeferre actually has with kissing – she told Courfeyrac once that she identifies as homoromantic graysexual, and Courfeyrac has never seen her in a romantic relationship for the entire time she’s known her.

At least, it helps to know that both of them are feeling awkward and out-of-place together.

When Courfeyrac thinks that, she somehow can’t help laughing a little – two people usually so confident, now both completely frozen.  Her laughter is contagious, and soon, Combeferre is smiling and giggling along with her.

It’s so easy to want to kiss Combeferre when she laughs.

“So, um, I’ll just –”  Courfeyrac takes a step closer and puts her arms up around Combeferre’s neck.  Combeferre’s hands come to settle lightly at Courfeyrac’s hips, their ghost-touch somehow the most present thing she’s felt in what could be forever.

“Is this okay?” she asks.

Combeferre nods.  “Yeah.”

Her cheeks are pink and her eyes are bright and it’s easy – so easy for Courfeyrac to lean up that last tiny bit of distance and kiss her, right on the lips – the lightest butterfly touch.

Her heart is pounding in her ears as she asks, “How about that?”

Combeferre nods again, and Courfeyrac could be imagining it, but she’s sure it’s more emphatic this time.

So, Courfeyrac forgets all her inhibitions – forgets that this is one of her two best friends in the world and their whole friendship could be completely annihilated right here right now – and just _goes for it_.  She presses her mouth against Combeferre’s with all the force she can muster, drags Combeferre’s body closer closer _closer_ and winds her fingers in Combeferre’s hair and opens her mouth to _taste_ and lets the fire burn and –

There is nothing in the world but her and Combeferre.  The world could be coming to an end around them for all she cares.

When the timer goes off three minutes later, Courfeyrac doesn’t want to let go.  But she does have to breathe, she reminds herself, so she pulls back and takes the needle-probe Combeferre hands her – this was all for science, fuck, she forgot that, _fuck_.

After they’ve both taken readings, they remain standing, breathing heavily, for a minute.

Finally, Combeferre says, in a low, breathy voice that makes Courfeyrac’s tomach do gymnastics, “We need to do that again.”

_Wait, does she – does she want –_

Combeferre clears her throat and adds, “We need to do two more trials.”

_Fuck._

* * *

_to: Courfeyrac.  from: Marius.  
_ _10:15 P.M._  
Courf, you need to stop avoiding Combeferre.  She’s getting kind-of worried, and the meetings are so weird without you two speaking

 _to: Marius.  from: Courfeyrac_  
10:18 P.M.  
well i made out with her 3 times FOR SCIENCE and really liked it but she doesn’t see me that way!!  what am i SUPPOSED to do???

 _to: Courfeyrac.  from: Marius._  
10:20 P.M.  
Maybe talk to her about it??  Idk, are you sure she doesn’t feel the same way??

 _to: Marius.  from: Courfeyrac_  
10:21 P.M.  
um

 _to: Marius.  from: Courfeyrac_  
10:21 P.M.  
uh

 _to: Marius.  from: Courfeyrac_  
10:22 P.M.  
no longer sure

 _to: Marius.  from: Courfeyrac_  
10:23 P.M.  
suddenly questioning my entire belief system

 _to: Marius.  from: Courfeyrac_  
10:24 P.M.  
marius don’t ever let anyone tell u ur worthless for any reason u r a Gem

 _to: Courfeyrac.  from: Marius._  
10:26 P.M.  
<3

* * *

Courfeyrac knocks at the door of Combeferre and Enjolras’ apartment.

There’s no immediate answer, so she knocks again.

Once again, no immediate answer, so she knocks a third time.

She’s about to start an actual barrage of knocking, marching band snare drummer-style, when the door is pulled open revealing a very displeased Enjolras.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing at eleven o’clock on a Thursday night?” he asks, in the voice usually reserved for idiotic conservatives who question his principles with ignorance and stupidity.

“Um,” Courfeyrac says.

Enjolras’s mouth drops open in an “o.”  “Sorry, Courf,” he says.  “I’ll go get Combeferre.”

And without further ado, he turns and heads back into the apartment.

“Was my purpose really that obvious?” Courfeyrac calls after him.

He doesn’t reply, but a few seconds later, Combeferre herself arrives at the door.  Her hair is loose about her shoulders, she’s wearing only Star Trek boxers and an old T-shirt, and Courfeyrac honestly should have known not to agree to kissing for science because now that she’s kissed Combeferre once, it’s all she can think about doing again.

“Hi,” Combeferre says.  “It’s nice to know you’re no longer avoiding me.”

“Well, um.”  Courfeyrac reaches up and tucks a stray curl behind her ear.  “I realized I really, really need to talk to you.”

“Oh, well, I actually need to talk to you, too,” Combeferre replies.

 _Oh, no.  I was wrong, Marius was wrong, I was_ really _wrong.  She figured out what was really going on in that lab room and now she wants to tell me she only sees me as a friend, I can’t do this –_

“You should go first,” Courfeyrac says quickly.

“What?” Combeferre exclaims.  “No, you.”

“It’s your apartment.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who came over here at eleven o’clock at night.”

“Okay, fine.”  Coufeyrac takes a deep breath, lets it out, squeezes her eyes shut – so as not to see the pained expression that will no doubt be on Combeferre’s face – and begins.  “Look, I don’t think you can use the results from our ... Data collection the other day, because ... Because I’m a really bad subject.  I can’t kiss you objectively.  I really like you, like, a lot, and I’ve wanted to kiss you for ... For a long time.  There’s no way our results were something you can actually use for sciencey things.  You should probably find someone else.”

She opens one eye, expecting to find disgust, rejection – anything but the wonder dawning in Combeferre’s blue-gray eyes.

“I was actually going to say the same thing,” Combeferre says slowly.

Courfeyrac opens her other eye in a hurry.  “You were?” she asks.

Combeferre nods, her cheeks quickly going from brown to pink to bright red.  “Yeah.  I’d like to, um, go out with you.  In a romantic way.  And kiss you a lot more.  For not-science.”

Courfeyrac finds a grin spreading across her face, completely of its own accord.  “I’d like to go out with you in a romantic way and kiss you a lot more for not-science, too,” she says.

“Good.”

And with that, Combeferre steps out into the hallway, cups Courfeyrac’s cheek in her hand, and kisses her.

It’s not at all the same as it was in the lab – it’s better.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to apologize for all the sciencey stuff in this, most of which is probably completely wrong.
> 
> and as always, feel free to come say hi on [tumblr](http://liberteegalitehomosexualite.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
